


Can't Escape

by MultiVerSonalityDisorder



Category: Samurai Champloo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Choices, Drama, Fate & Destiny, Modern Era, Multi, OT3, Polyamory, Post-Canon, Post-Series, Reincarnation, Slow Romance, Threesome - F/M/M, Yakuza, ménage à trois, schoolgirl, trio
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-21 00:25:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6031353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MultiVerSonalityDisorder/pseuds/MultiVerSonalityDisorder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fate, Destiny, whatever the hell you call it...it's really a bitch. Nearly two-hundred years, and we're back at the start.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Continuous

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing, save for the side characters of the modern setting for our main Champloo trio. I thought I'd give this reincarnation fic a try. It was in my head, I recently rewatched the series for the first time in ten years and what I already knew from loving it, I loved it even more a second time. So, I hope this goes well. It'll be a challenge, but I'll try my best to get this to an acceptable level for all who decide to read this.
> 
> If you've read any of my other works, I'm flattered you're joining me, again.
> 
> Thank you.

It was a typical day. Every day after school, she would hurry home to help with the restaurant. She’d greet Okasawa-san as she ran upstairs to change out of her school uniform and into the basic blue tee and black pants she always wore for work. She’d peek into the mirror, address her pixie cut, apply some lipgloss and doublecheck for any visual errors; once in a while frowning at her petite bosom. Once downstairs, she’d set to work on table-orders, fetching drinks and bringing meals. However, the typical day went rather atypical amazingly quickly.

It had been a slow day, as Thursdays usually were. At this point in time, the only patrons they had were Kawabata Yasunari and his thugs, Norihide, Juro, and Hisanobu. Unsightly, Yasunari was the son of Kawabata Kunimatsu; a second lieutenant to the Kurusu-gumi. Yasunari was a punk, barely out of high school, acting like he was the headboss. It was almost sickening, but nobody opposed him. Nobody would be dumb enough to do something like that. So, he was loud, obnoxious, as always, bragging about how he bullied some middle schoolers, some old men with gambling problems, and sad old hostesses at the red light district. All she could do was try to keep her mouth shut, but it was hard. She was always a very opinionated young woman, but she couldn’t cause trouble for the owner. She was indebted to him. But, it didn’t even seem to matter if she opened her mouth or not. Trouble followed anyway, today…

She had simply slipped to the table to gather the empty cups. She was trying to be stealthy, not saying a word as she brought each glass to her tray, but it wasn’t enough. That damn Yasunari grabbed hold of her wrist and sneered. A piercing on his left brow, a mole at the right corner of his mouth, tacky suit-wear of atrocious bright pastels, and a slicked back undercut. A goldtooth (people still did that?!) winked at her as he pulled her onto his lap, spinning her so she was seated (un)comfortably as he wrapped his arms around her waist. She was trying to keep from dropping the tray as she struggled not to punch the living daylights out of this guy. Her cheeks felt hot indignantly, and he whispered against her neck, skin crawling at the stench of his breath.

“Hey, little miss, why don’t you come with my friends and me back to our place? We can have a lot of fun.” She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to answer. She didn’t want to, she just wanted to walk away, but his hold on her was stronger than she was willing to accept. He noticed her hesitation, reluctance and added, "You know, this is a nice little shithole. I really wouldn’t wanna see anything bad happening to it, you get me? I mean, the owner is _such_ a nice guy and all. His wife’s about to have a baby any day, isn’t she? Sure would be a shame if this all turned to ashes, because _someone_ didn’t want to play.”

Her eyes darted towards the counter, Okasawa-san working diligently on the food that these mongrels ordered. Her heart clenched in her chest, her teeth grinding together. She was just about to shout, anything that came to her mind at the time, when suddenly someone joined them at the table. The group seemed surprised, astonished to see this stranger making himself comfortable.

Two hoops on his right ear anchored with a third piercing at the base with a stud, his left with two studs and one tragus. There was a scar near the end of his right brow, he was unusually tanned for the area, and his hair was short, yet out of control. He was dressed in a plane red tank with two blue rings tattooed on each of his wrists, and a silver chain hung around his neck to his clavicle. He lit a cigarette with a grumble, eyes drooping, “Hey, instead of flirting, why don’tcha get me something to eat, sweetcheeks?”

**-**


	2. Anywhere But Here

“What the hell, you dipshit!” the yakuza-wannabe’s stooges rose to their feet and surrounded the newcomer. Hands in their pockets, they rose their chins in an attempt to be intimidating as they snarled out their insults. “You got any idea who this is?!”

One gestured to the creep that held the girl captive, smirking with bugged out eyes, spit slipping from his lips as he spoke, “I don’t think ya do! If ya did, ya woulda ran outta here b’fore ya even thought to sit!”

“This is Kawabata Yasunari!” the third declared proudly; a smug smile on the mentioned male’s features. “Son of Kawabata Kunimatsu! Second lieutenant to the Kurusu-gumi!”

Stuffing his lighter in the pocket of his torn up jeans, the tanned youth sneered as he removed the accessory from his lips and blew a cloud right into the third goon’s face; earning a sharp inhale and frantic wheezing. “So,” he shrugged, “some bitch-son of some bitch-lieutenant of some lame-ass yakuza group.” His eyes were sharp on the young woman, “C’mon, girlie, I’m starvin’. Get me some food, now.”

While the other two lackeys took up their own defensive stances towards him, Yasunari stood, hands on the waitress’s arms, fingers digging tightly into her soft flesh and making her cringe. “She’s a bit tied up, if you haven’t noticed,” was the arrogant reply. “If you want something to eat…” he jerked his hand in and out of his front pant pocket and swiftly flipped open a knife, “I’ll shove this steel down your throat!” The thug snapped, lunged forward as he shoved the girl aside, reaching over the table and aiming for the tanned male’s neck. That was…until his wrist was caught and twisted back sternly. The blade fell and was dropped onto the newcomer’s palm as Yasunari whimpered, trying to keep himself steady as his spare hand and knees kept him above the table.

“Yo, girl,” he didn’t even look at her as his eyes examined the twisted expression of the yakuza-youth.

Crossing her arms, she wasn’t going to let another obnoxious guy try to push her around or insult her, “My name is Fuu.”

“Like I give a shit,” there was a light rumble of a chuckle in his voice. “Anyway, get me something hot. Like yakitori or tempura.”

Wincing, Yasunari looked to his statue-like subordinates, tears in his eyes, face flushed, and sweat trickling down his brow, chin, and neck. “You dumbasses!” he screeched, “Get him!”

However, none moved as the edge of the blade was pressing against the soft skin under the young man’s jaw. A thin cut was indented upon him, the faintest trace of blood bubbled, but didn’t drip. There was a wicked smile on the tanned man’s lips, his brows shot up with glee before suddenly drooping, furrowing as he scowled and glared over Yasunari’s head. A man was standing beside the girl, tall, glasses, long raven locks held back in a ponytail, and dressed in a sharp dark blue suit; lacking a tie, jacket open and top buttons popped open. The waitress looked at him with surprise, seeming nervous as her eyes flickered between the two, and all he did was stand there, staring blankly with his hands in his pockets, not making a sound.

The tanned-youth growled, “Who the fuck are you?”

**To Be Continued...**


End file.
